


Some Things in Life...

by Pandamerium



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandamerium/pseuds/Pandamerium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Some things in life just conduct themselves in certain fashions that will come across to the recipient in a variety of ways, many of which can be shockingly unique.</i>
</p><p>  <i>But this… this was just weird.</i></p><p>This is a gift-fic for MonsieurMoose, who wanted a fic to this pairing. I tried to deliver. This is what became of my efforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things in Life...

Some things in life are kind and gracious in the way they present themselves. Some are harsh, and show a tough kind of love. Some are just downright mean and like to kick people in the ass just for a good laugh. Some things in life just conduct themselves in certain fashions that will come across to the recipient in a variety of ways, many of which can be shockingly unique.

But this… was just weird.

No, seriously, this shit was fucking weirder than a tabby cat with buttered toast strapped to its back falling through the blue-orange portal game set-up while talking in a British accent about the difference between biscuits and scones and casually not giving a fuck about the fact that it was also raining meatballs.

Yes, it was weirder than that mental image you just had.

Because of all the people Bro could choose to have in his bed, the guy from the bar, that dancer that shook her hips just right, or even his younger brother Dave, he had someone else. Someone he’d never dreamed of, or even given privy thought to, being in his bed. Under him. Tangled in soft Egyptian cotton and breathing in the goose-down feathers of the pillow. Cheeks and body flushed, fingers gripping tightly at the once-clean linen, mouth open. Moaning his name. Eyes shut tightly, face scrunched up with pleasure.

Bro had his own fucking _self_ in his bed tonight.

No, he wasn’t alone, that’s not what that meant.

Youthful, agile, and slightly tenacious, it was a younger, different version of himself. But it was still him; the same blonde hair flaring up in the back, the same orange eyes that might be a touch brighter in the correct lighting, and a lithe, toned, unbelievably sexy body to go along with the whole package. Speaking of package, his cock was impressive for his age.

…Hey, just sayin’.

This version of Bro wasn’t without a name, either: Dirk Strider. It had power underneath those letters, something strong and raw tucked away for a time when it was absolutely needed. It commanded the masses and demanded authority.

Bro enjoyed the raw power of that name almost as much as he enjoyed their bodies pressed together like this.

“Bro—ahh!!”

Okay, maybe he liked his voice, too.

It was probably completely narcissistic in a way, loving and seeking pleasure with a version of himself. Caressing knees and thighs that were his, but _not_ ; kissing and biting skin that was his, but _not_. Making him cry out in a voice that was his… but _not_.

“Had enough, kid?” he asked huskily into Dirk’s ear before biting it. They’d done it four times now, and both of them were covered in a thin sheet of sweat. There were hickeys all over Dirk’s neck and other love bites on his chest and back.

Dirk below him just laughed in his perfectly deep baritone voice. “Fat chance, old man.”

Bro chuckled and pushed back inside Dirk’s ass. “You’re a cocky lil’ smartass, you know that?”

“A-ahh…” Dirk flashed him a snarky look over his shoulder. “L-look who’s talkin’.”

No, of course they weren’t done. They would probably never be done. The moment both of them got off and had gained their breath back, one of them was already raring to go another round. Last time, Bro had laid back against the pillows after cuming for a third time inside his younger self’s body. Said younger self had thought it fit to crawl back into his lap with fevered kisses to show he wasn’t down and out yet, they were just taking a few seconds for a break.

It was a challenge. The second that one of them couldn’t go another round, they’d stop for the night with a definite winner. Tonight had gone on longer than last night – Bro had won that round, of course, but Dirk had won the night before that.

As of now, Bro had Dirk on his stomach, and was thrusting wildly into his ass, moving both their forms in a disembodied rhythm and shaking the bed. The angle was causing Dirk to rut against the mattress, making him moan loudly from the dual-sensations. His hands fisted the sheets tighter and he pressed his hips down to cause more friction between his erection and the bed, but Bro pulled his rear back up and continued thrusting; his reward for Dirk’s compliance on the matter was to continuously hit his prostate, so much that it overloaded Dirk’s bodily sensations, converting everything the pleasure and nothing but.

Bro groaned loudly as he released inside Dirk, riding out the orgasm in a few long thrusts. He sighed, content, and pulled out of the younger blonde. Dirk collapsed onto the sheets, his body shaking from the aftermath—and the fact that he still hadn’t orgasmed. His cock, still large and erect and flushed to the tip, twitched with the pressure from Dirk’s weight and the bed. The young Strider attempted to move his hips to cause the friction he so desired, but his legs were too wobbly, too weak to respond, and Dirk’s hands gripping the linens could only do that – grip fabric. His half-lidded eyes stared out at the room, and his hips only twitched a few times.

He was too tired to touch himself and finish.

Bro knew he wouldn’t leave himself hanging, and that rule didn’t change even when it was a paradox clone or whatever alternate version of himself lying next to him. He moved Dirk onto his side, pulling his younger self so that his back hit Bro’s chest, and reached down to grasp the throbbing penis. Normally, Bro had tact, and would tease Dirk for as long as possible; he’d trace his finger up and down Dirk’s cock and then maybe show his balls a little attention, too. He’d alternate between those two things; when he did it orally, he’d use his tongue in the same, teasing fashion.

But he didn’t have time or need for tact right now.

It only took a couple of strokes before Dirk released streams of white into Bro’s hand, head thrown back against the older Strider’s chest, eyes shut, mouth open, crying out, as his body convulsed in response to his orgasm.

It was a few long moments before Bro leaned in to whisper into his younger self’s ear. “Ready to call it, lil’ man?”

Dirk shook his head once. “No… no way.” He was panting. His face was flushed bright red. His chest heaved.

Bro smirked and kissed a spot behind Dirk’s ear; he knew Dirk’s weak points because they were Bro’s, too (even though they were the most unironic cheesy fanfiction-like weak spots a person could ever have in the history of ever).

“I win tonight,” Bro told Dirk. It wasn’t open for debate. Bro had won this round, the tabby cat with the buttered toast strap-on could go home now.

Dirk made a strangled noise of protest, weakly reaching back to hit Bro somewhere (maybe in the chest area), but couldn’t stop the yawn that followed. Or ignore the creeping darkness at the corners of his vision.

Dirk glanced back at Bro sleepily. “You are so going to bottom the next time around.”

Bro only gave him an amused smirk.

Yeah, right, like that was going to happen.

Come morning, Bro was going to resent that line of thinking when he woke up to his limbs immobilized by a well-knotted, securely-tied bondage rope harness.

Well, fuck. He actually hadn’t expected that one.


End file.
